"Yes." Phoenix's nails rake down my back, leaving furrows of sweet fire in their wake. "Yes, yes,yes?—"
I don't give her time to adjust. Can't. The instinct is too strong, the bond thrumming between us too demanding. I pull back and slam forward, setting a pace that's closer to claiming than fucking, every thrust driving her higher against the wall.
Her head falls back, throat exposed in submission. The bite mark she left on my neck throbs in time with my heartbeat, and I can feel her pleasure echoing through the bond—doubling, tripling, feeding back into itself until I can't tell where I end and she begins.
"Dom—" Her voice breaks on my name. "Harder."
I hitch her higher, adjusting the angle until I'm hitting that spot inside her with every stroke. Her whole body goes taut, muscles locking, and I feel the orgasm building in her through the bond before she makes a sound.
"That's it." I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in. "Let go, sweetheart Let me feel you."
She shatters.
The sensation slams through the bond like a shockwave—her pleasure crashing into mine, amplifying, reflecting back until I can't tell whose release is whose. I feel my knot swelling, stretching her, locking us together, and with the last shred of coherent thought I have left, I lift her higher in my arms and sink my teeth into the soft curve of her breast.
Phoenix screams.
Her fingers grip my hair hard enough to hurt. Her walls clamp down around my knot so tight I see stars. And underneath it all, the bond blazes brighter and brighter until I'm not sure I can survive this much sensation without combusting entirely.
When I finally surface from the white-hot blaze of release, we're both trembling.
Phoenix's legs are still locked around my waist, her face pressed into the curve of my shoulder. My knot pulses inside her with every beat of my heart, keeping us tied together in the most primal way possible.
I adjust my grip, carrying her toward the bed on shaking legs. The nest swallows us both, pillows and blankets cushioning our collapse. Atticus makes a sound that might be protest as we jostle him, but neither of us has the energy to care.
"Okay?" My voice comes out wrecked. Barely recognizable.
Phoenix lifts her head. Her eyes are glassy, pupils blown so wide there's barely a ring of amber visible. But she's smiling—this soft, satisfied curve of her lips that makes something in my chest crack open.
"More than okay." Her fingers trace the bite mark on my neck, then drift down to touch the matching one I left on her breast. "We match now."
I press my forehead to hers. "Yeah. We do."
Through the bond, I feel her contentment. Her exhaustion. Her love, vast and unconditional and freely given.
Mine, I think again. But this time, it's not instinct speaking.
It's just the truth.
PHOENIX
I crack my eyes open.
The room is dim, blackout curtains doing their job against what must be afternoon sun. Atticus is sprawled on my left, one arm flung over his face, breathing slow and deep in the way that means he's truly out. Dom is gone—probably getting food or water or whatever alphas do between rounds—but his warmth still lingers in the sheets.
The door opens with a soft click.
Two silhouettes slip through the gap, being very deliberately quiet.
Mason and Judah.
We agreed to this. All of us, together, mapping out the rotation and the logistics and who would be where and when. Judah was always part of the plan. But seeing him here, hesitating in the doorway as if he isn't sure of his welcome makes something stutter in my chest.
Mason reaches the bed first. His fingers brush my cheek, cool against my flushed skin.
I catch his wrist before he can pull away.
Mason's eyes widen behind his glasses as I tug him closer, closer, until his knee hits the mattress and he has no choice but to follow me down into the nest. His scent wraps around me—chamomile and black pepper, comfort and safety—and I bury my face against his throat.
